


I regret to inform you...

by MillieMae



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dom/sub, End of the World, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-03-06 23:57:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3153122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillieMae/pseuds/MillieMae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone pays Jack O'Neill a visit bearing not so happy news.</p>
<p>Short one-shot I wrote when I was playing with ideas about combining these fandoms. Mentions of major character deaths.</p>
<p>Edit; Ok, so I'm adding a few chapters to this...slowly! Wanted to see where it would go. I like combining these fandoms, the idea of the Slayers history and power merging with the future of Stargate and their tech. Most of the Slayers will be OC's but I'm toying with bringing one or two back from the dead! Will edit the summary once I've posted a bit more. All feedback, good and bad, is welcomed!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jack stood at his open door, the bottle of BBQ sauce still gripped in one hand, the meat fork in the other. He remembered each time he’d been on the other side of the door, fist raised an inch from it’s solid surface, knowing that once it landed the sounds that reached him wouldn’t be heard in that house for many months to come. That the people inside would never be the same again. She was still watching him, wouldn’t drop her eyes and he could feel himself slowly drowning in them. She blinked slowly, for a moment the spell breaking.

“General Jack O’Neill?”

He nodded. Ignoring those who had gathered behind him.

Their eyes locked again. His world narrowed, he forced himself to cling on long enough to hear the words he knew were coming.

“It is with the deepest sadness that I inform you of the death of Miss Buffy Summers. She lost her life three days ago in the line of duty, a duty which she had served unwaveringly for fifteen years and in which she still believed with all of her heart”

The bottom of his world dropped out.

“It was an honour to stand with her” Another slow blink. “I must also inform you of the deaths of Mr Rupert Giles, Miss Faith Lehane, Mr Alexander Harris, Miss Willow Rosenburg and Miss Anya Jenkins”

He felt a warm hand press on his shoulder. It didn’t make anything better. He doubted anything ever would. Then a spark, a sudden flare of hope, goosebumps raised on his otherwise numb body. “Dawn..”

For a moment there was the faintest of smiles, for a moment those damn eyes let up their torture. “She is healing well. And shall be looking for a place to stay”

Jack nodded dumbly.

“I shall tell her when she wakes” She stepped forward. He kept staring at the place she had been. Strong arms wrapped round him, head resting against his chest, he could smell the battle in her hair, could only imagine the horrors that made it still cling to her after three days. He stood there, holding the sauce bottle and the meat fork, staring out into the dim light of dusk whilst she gave comfort, took comfort. His body felt colder and he looked down, she was framed in his doorway once more. “I am sorry”

He watched as she moved slowly down his front steps, towards the black Impala that rumbled quietly across the street. The passenger door swung open and without a look back she slid inside, it closing with a creak behind her. He closed his eyes, when he opened them again the street was empty. The street lamp flickered briefly and he jumped as the forgotten hand squeezed. “I am sorry Jack”

He nodded again.

“Come inside”


	2. Chapter 2

He watched as his General was gently steered back towards the kitchen. There was a light touch to his arm and Carter smiled sadly at him. “We’re staying. So should you. Can you get the door?”

He nodded, moving forward and shutting it quietly. He looked over at the other guests. They looked back. His eyes darted back to the door, that Impala was pretty stand-out.

“No Shep” Mitchell’s voice was low, he looked over and his friend shook his head. “Not our place”

He took one last look at it before moving back towards them, snagging his beer on the way past. Sprawling back in his chair he raised it slightly before he took his next swig, noting Mitchell doing the same, before silently repeating their names in his head.

 

One year later.

John lay in his bed, staring out into the darkness the other side of his window, the stars of Pegasus unseen as he got lost in his thoughts. It had been months since he’d thought about her, since he’d stopped and taken the time to go over that night. It had haunted him for a long time afterwards, her words seemingly etched into his mind, the way O’Neill had carried on like nothing had happened, the image of her eyes as for a split second they had met his as she’d leant against O’Neill’s chest and John had felt his throat close up and the hairs on his arms raise. The General had never mentioned it again.

But today he had watched Rodney walk through the gate following the body of a good friend, the deep grief he felt being momentarily overshadowed by pity for the other man, knowing what he had to do, the words he was going to have to try to find. That is what had done it, causing the brief spark of memory, her standing there with her hands clasped loosely together, that calm almost haunting voice. And those eyes, and that Goddamn list of names…

He took a deep breath, closed his own eyes against the stars. In the few weeks he had spent on Earth before shipping back out he’d toyed with the idea of satisfying the urge to discover more, a few simple keystrokes would have yielded probably enough information to do just that but something had stopped him. Perhaps it was out of respect for his General, perhaps for the unknown young woman and her eyes, the like of which he had not seen again until he had looked into Ronan’s and seen the same emotions swirling back at him, perhaps it was because of the instinct that told him some things should remain undiscovered. 

Sighing he turned over and tried to get comfortable in the narrow bed, shake off the memory. Tomorrow he would have to make the same journey through the gate, questions would need to be answered in regards to Carson’s death and that would fall on John alone.

 

The next day.

John watched as the door swung silently shut behind the last of board members, leaving him alone with his General. His fingers curled tighter around the cool metal arms of his chair, hidden from view beneath the table. The IOA representative had been particularly invasive and her line of questioning brutal, even for him. Miss Xaiyo was the first woman he’d ever met that he’d been tempted to raise a hand to.

“She does rather have that effect Sheppard” He moved his gaze from the door to find O’Neill faintly smiling. “I swear they had her grown in a lab somewhere”

He snorted quietly despite himself. 

His General nodded. “Don’t worry John, I’m afraid this was a nasty necessity, the usual protocol bullshit, but no one is questioning your ability when it comes to Atlantis”

John nodded slowly. “Thank you Sir”

“Don’t thank me, your actions speak for themselves. And if they didn’t your men certainly do. Once the gate opened my computer had a small meltdown with the number of emails flooding in from the city. They have your back, always a good sign in a CO”

He swallowed around the ridiculously forming lump in his throat. “Thank you Sir” He croaked. 

“Thank them”

John straightened. “I will, once I’ve bollocked them for going against orders”

O’Neill grinned. “Right answer” His face turned serious, John braced himself. “Today may not be the best time for this speech Sheppard but I don’t have long before you bugger back off to Pegasus and hide yourself away for another year..” John opened his mouth, to say what he wasn’t sure but he was waved into silence anyway. “I understand, sometimes tempted to do the same thing to be honest” The man opposite him sighed quietly before pushing up out of his seat and heading over to the coffee pot. “It doesn’t feel like it today John but you’re doing excellent work in Pegasus, your causality and fatality to population ratio is far lower than anyone predicted, even out there alone you brought back over 90% of the original expedition, a small miracle by anyone’s standards”

“It wasn’t good enough” He murmured. Aiden and Elizabeth flashed before his eyes.

“And that is also the right answer” O’Neill gave him a small smile over his shoulder before opening the cupboard below the small coffee station. He pulled out a whisky bottle, John tried to keep his face blank as two generous glasses were filled. His General turned back towards him. “We lost a hell of a lot more in the first few years here. Most were merely familiar faces, a nodded greeting, a muttered ‘good morning’ over coffee as we passed in the corridors…” He acknowledged his thanks as a glass was placed gently in front of him, dazedly wondering where this was leading. God, he needed sleep. “Luckily for me SG-1 seemed to have an uncanny ability to keep on surviving despite Daniel giving dying a good go a number of times”

John bit his lip to stop form grinning.

“And Mitchell appears to be doing a good job at keeping up that tradition” They exchanged a brief grin. Oh yeah, John got the reports too. O’Neill retook his seat. “However, some were good friends, some fought by my side, some took the shots that I should have, some played basketball with me in the gym here, some shared stories or exciting news over shitty Mac’n’Cheese in the mess…” His General took a gulp of whisky. “Some sat at my table, drank my beer, laughed with me…” The other man trailed off into silence.

John waited.

“…some losses have nearly broken me” 

John swallowed. 

O’Neill took another gulp, John decided to join him. He focused on the burn in his throat, the warmth sliding down into his belly.

His General was staring down into the amber liquid. “You were there…”

John frowned. “Sir?”

A hand was waved. “Drop the Sir” O’Neill raised his gaze to look at him, and for the first time that he could remember his General looked old, and tired. “You were there, that night….the girl..”

John swallowed again. He nodded.

“You remember…what she said?”

He nodded, took another glug of whisky.

“It was a year ago today” O’Neill swirled his glass thoughtfully.

“I remembered S…O’Neill” John studied his own drink. “I’m sorry”

“Thought you might” His General huffed a quiet laugh. “Hard to forget those girls…they have..something. They get into your head, under your skin…” He sighed. “Gotten used to losing people John, even before my wife…Charlie..”

John felt his stomach clench in pity, sadness. He’d heard the story, was pretty sure everyone who passed through the mountain did. 

“Had a younger sister” O’Neill took another swig. “She rebelled, like all teens do, but my parents….they didn’t know how to handle it. Fought against it instead of trying to understand. I hadn’t you see? Was always driven by my desire to fly, and bad boys don’t make good AirForce pilots”

He vaguely nodded his understanding.

“She ran away when she was sixteen, I was twenty one. Never heard from her again. I’d always hoped she’d managed to forge a life for herself, got it out her system, found a good guy, maybe kids” He sighed quietly. “Of course there was the thought, buried deep down, that she’d died on some street somewhere or hooked up with some asshole…but I ignored it. Maybe..that was a mistake” O’Neill suddenly straightened, seemingly shaking himself from somewhere far away, and long ago. “Then one day there’s a knock at my door, and luckily I was home on downtime, and there she is. Not identical but enough of a resemblance to tell me that she’s family, she’s Joyce’s” His lips twitched into something that vaguely passed for a smile. “I had a niece. Her name was Buffy, Buffy Summers”


	3. Chapter 3

“Fuck knows what Joyce was thinking” O’Neill rolled his eyes, seemingly to himself. “Buffy….”

John took more whisky to stop himself from grinning like a mad man. The name was as ridiculous as his afternoon was turning out. 

“Kind of suited her though, I guess” His General shrugged. “Not that thats important anymore” He drained his drink, pushed himself up once more, it seemed they were getting refills. “She was guarded at first. Don’t blame her, had a nasty run in with some military a few years before meeting me” The whisky bottle clanged gently against the open door before O’Neill made his way back to John. “But eventually I got to know a little about her life, her world. And believe me John…” more whisky was poured. “…that world, from what I got to see, was far darker than ours”

He watched as the amber liquid sloshed against the side. If his General had decided he needed to talk John had no clue as to why he’d chosen him to talk to. He had a horrible feeling there was something coming that he wasn’t going to like very much. He half emptied the glass into his throat and set it carefully back down on the table. Also he had vague memories of hiring a car. 

O’Neill sat down, topping up his own drink before placing the bottle down beside it. He took gulp, cleared his throat. “Cant tell you much Sheppard” John noted the return use of his last name. “You think our confidentiality agreements are tough you should see theirs, and they don’t hesitate when it comes to following through on threats” O’Neill ran a hand over his face. “But Dawn…”

He raised a brow. “The survivor”

His General shot him a an indecipherable look. “Yes, she survived. Although she often vocalises her desire that she hadn’t” He drained his second glass. “Lost everything you see. She’s Buffy’s sister, when Joyce died from surgery complications she lost her Mom, then Buffy stepped up, muddled her way through and just as they were rebuilding…”

“Buffy died” John closed his eyes briefly. “Poor kid” He snapped his eyes open. “Um…sorry Sir”

“Don’t be an idiot” O’Neill glared at him. “This is informal John”

He nodded quickly. “Of course, I just…”

“Be quiet” John sank lower in his chair, his General scowling at him from across the briefing table which now seemed about a mile long. “I’ve tried, but my own demons have made helping Dawn through her grief….difficult. But we’re getting there. I have her trust now, and she has mine. Which makes what I’m going to do tough on both of us”

“Sir..”

“John..” An authoritative brow was raised. He shut up. “I want you to take Dawn back with you”

John felt his mouth drop open. 

“Shut your mouth Colonel, you look like an idiot” He snapped it shut. O’Neill shot him a wry smirk. “I promised to keep Dawn away from their world, away from danger. There was some talk about a shovel if I did not” John raised a brow, he didn’t particularly want a shovel in his life either. “She promised too, and as far as I am aware she has stayed away” O’Neill shakily poured a third glass. “But her name, her family….the Summer’s women made a lot of enemies, pissed a lot of very powerful beings off. Dawn herself still has the potential to have as much influence on the world as her sister did”

“O’Neill, Sir..”

“Be quiet Sheppard, listen” His General pointed at him with the hand that gripped the overfilled glass, a little whisky slopping onto the table. “The young woman who you saw, the one whose duty brought her to my door a year ago visited me again. Two weeks ago” He took a more respectable sip of his drink. “Something is coming, something big. She was worried Sheppard, despite her efforts to hide it and if SHE is scared then we should all definitely be. It was recommended that I use all of my resources to ensure the safety of one Dawn Summers” 

John eyed his boss, the man did look genuinely shaken. He sighed quietly, fingers tracing over the cut glass. “O’Neill….Pegasus is not a 100% safe place to be. Nor is the city. And I don’t want to be shovelled”

O’Neill grinned. “You let me worry about that”

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable with that suggestion Sir”

He was flipped off. “She is my last surviving family member John, I’m asking you to keep her safe, in your city, at least until whatever it is…well, until its done”

“And do I get to know what it is? Who these people are?” John took another large pull of his drink, the warmth of the alcohol meant he was now craving a smoke. He tried to block it out with the more immediate thought that he was eventually going to have to bow to his General’s wishes and that, somehow, someway, his life was never going to be the same again…and not in a good way.

“I don’t know what it is, exactly what is happening. Without Buffy their trust in me is a lot less” O’Neill shot him a sad smile. “You know we’d starting talking about maybe joining forces, bringing together our two organisations. Together I think we’d have been pretty awesome” The man sighed. “But..well, now I have to be grateful that they at least watch out for Dawnie”

“Sir..” John met his gaze. “Who are ‘they’, please?”

“Are you sure you want to know Colonel?” A brow was raised in his direction.

John ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know Sir…I thought about it. All those months ago but…something stopped me”

O’Neill huffed a quiet laugh. “That’ll be your survival instinct Sheppard” He was fixed with a surprisingly steely look for someone who had consumed half a bottle of whisky. “So, I repeat..are you sure you want to know?”

“No” He straightened his shoulders. “But I won’t have an unknown on my city, with an unknown threat hanging over her. Those are my people, that is my home….” He tried to remain composed. “I’m sorry Sir, but thats my answer”

“I could make it an order”

“I know Sir”

O’Neill nodded resignedly. “But unfortunately I’m still not that much of an asshole” He gave John another tight smile. “We’d better get a ride back to the house”

 

It turned out Miss Dawn Summers wasn’t home, and John was really glad he wasn’t her right now. His General had sobered up impressively fast and he was now on the phone to a Tech back at the mountain who was trying to trace the signal from her Stargate Command issued chip. Actually scratch his previous statement, he was really glad he wasn’t the Tech right now.

“What the fuck do you mean there’s nothing?!” O’Neill glowered at the phone. “What the fuck do I pay you for?! What the fuck did I pay that fucking chip company two million for?!” John could faintly hear a stammered reply from the receiver. “Screw you!” The General appeared to attempt to end the phones life by hammering it against a side table before exhaling and redialling, all the while muttering about ‘genius my arse’ ”Come on, answer damn you…” O’Neill started drumming his fingers just above the phone shaped dent. He pointed at John who tried to look completely relaxed about this situation. “If this doesn’t work we’re going to have to head out…” He gestured towards the kitchen door. “Theres torches, Sat phones, my spare service weapon…” 

John nodded, starting to move to where he was directed towards. “Yes Sir”

“Cut the Sir” O’Neill scowled at him. “And grab the stakes too”

He paused. “Uh…”

“Questions later Sheppard”

“Um, ok” Reassuring himself that O’Neill was still alive despite his obvious slide into batshit craziness he went off in search of the requested items, really praying that steaks meant they were going to prep a nice bit of dinner for when they got back. 

A not so gentle knock at the door stopped him in his tracks. “Shit” O’Neill dropped the still ringing phone and headed for it.


	4. Chapter 4

As the door was wrenched inwards two young women practically fell through it, both reaching out hands to grasp at the wooden frame in an effort to steady themselves, the one on the left crying out at the effort before dropping to her knees. Before she’d even hit the floor John was already halfway back to the kitchen, running for the first aid kit he knew his General kept under the sink, the sight of stark red droplets hitting the oak boards overriding the questions forming on his lips. 

Sprinting back towards them he took in the uninjured girl kicking the door shut before going to his knees beside the other. O’Neill had already unzipped the battered leather jacket, stopping his attempts at tearing the tee underneath and nodding briefly as John wordlessly passed him a pair of scissors. The Colonel tried not to hiss a breath inwards at the three deep gashes revealed as the sodden material was gently pulled away from them, the young woman at his knees grunted quietly. 

“Easy Fi” Murmured his General, reaching for the thick roll of bandages. “Gonna patch you up here then we’ll make the med attention call ok?”

Her eyes cracked open, tongue darting out to moisten dry lips. “No… hosp… al”

O’Neill shook his head. “No talking” The reply was mumbled, only it’s tone suggesting that he should go do something unspeakable with himself. He snorted quietly. “Well, thats a good sign” He raised his head, John kept his lowered, concentrated on preparing the dressings. “Dawn, boil a kettle and bring towels please, and fetch the iodine from the bathroom” 

Expecting hysterics or a freeze up he was surprised to see her nod sharply before hurrying out of the room, the sounds of her movements echoing back through to them.

“She’ll panic later Sheppard”

John looked up from his work, tried to smooth his face into expressionless. 

The General rolled his eyes. “She learnt young Colonel, isn’t a bad medic either when necessary”

He nodded silently before going back to the pressing matter of keeping their patient from bleeding out all over O’Neill’s floor, removing the soaked bandage and replacing it quickly with another, adding pressure as more blood rolled down her side. There was quiet growl and he raised his gaze to her face, the eyes were narrowed and the jaw twitched. John swallowed, beneath the half open lids all he could see was black.

 

Turning on the hot tap John watched as the pink tinged water he was pouring into the sink became clearer as the two liquids mixed together, before slowly disappearing down the plug hole. He had wordlessly begun the cleanup after helping his General move the injured woman to the guest bedroom, gently laying her down on top of the made bed before leaving the others to fuss around her. 

Stepping back into the main living area he had quickly set about clearing up the blood before it had chance to become a permanent reminder, a dark stain deep within the oak that they would be forced to walk over everyday. As was often the case it wasn’t until he’d started on his task did he realise just how much had poured from her wounds in a relatively short space of time. It was a miracle she was still alive, and he wouldn’t be surprised if an ambulance or an emergency run to the mountain’s med bay wasn’t called for during the night.

Sighing quietly he shut off the water and ran the least stained towel around the inside of the sink before dropping it into the black plastic bag that already held the others, plus discarded bandages and orange coloured cottonwool, soaked with iodine. Digging around in the cupboards he finally, victoriously, produced a bottle of bleach, which he sprinkled liberally around the sink and left to work its magic. Tying the bag shut John dumped it by the back door, he wasn’t quite sure where O’Neill would choose to dispose of it and felt it inappropriate to currently ask, before padding back into the other room and pouring himself a large whisky. Inhaling deeply, trying to rid his nostrils of the sickly scent of blood mingled with the sharpness of the bleach, he then emptied the entire thing down his throat before pouring another. 

Turning and scanning the room to make sure he hadn’t missed anything that would show what had happened here his eyes caught sight of black leather, the rumpled jacket still laying where it had been tossed onto the coffee table earlier. Crossing the room he reached down with his spare hand and picked it up, letting it spin slightly in his grasp. Even without spreading it open John could tell it was now unwearable, the tough material had been torn through by whatever had caused it’s wearer’s injuries. A soft thunk sounded as something fell from it’s destroyed innards and he looked down to see a packet of smokes laying on the worn Persian rug. 

He stood for a moment, whisky grasped tightly in one hand, the jacket still swaying sightly in the other, he pursed his lips in thought. Reaching a decision, and murmuring “Fuck it” to himself, the Colonel squatted down and, with a little difficulty owing to his burdened state, scooped up the pack and headed back to the kitchen. Draping the torn leather across the back of a chair he placed his drink on the kitchen table and flicked open the small cardboard box, sliding out a sleek white cylinder with only a little flash of guilt. Retrieving the box of matches he’d come across earlier during the hunt for cleaning materials John slipped past the bulging refuse bag and out into the blissfully crisp night air.

 

Taking a deep pull on his pilfered contraband John exhaled a stream of smoke, watching it mingle with his hot breath hitting the cool air before disappearing into the night. Leaning on the railings of the narrow veranda he took another drag, thoughts turning to the night’s events. The young woman currently laid out a couple of rooms away was not the same one that he'd watched pass on her somber message all those months ago.

Recollecting the brief moment of surprise as he'd studied her face and come to this realisation John frowned. Why had he presumed that it would be the same girl? Perhaps because a year ago, almost to the day, he had watched his General’s door open to a just as an unexpected scene. Or maybe somewhere deep within his brain that was already addled with O’Neill’s confessions and John’s wariness about what he was about to learn from the younger Miss Summers, he had subconsciously connected the two events.

Working his way steadily through the stolen smoke John turned the idea over in his mind. Whatever world Dawn Summers had lived in before the death of her sister her injured companion was more than likely to be a part of, the absence from the house, the decision to bring a mortally wounded young woman to O’Neill’s rather than call 911, the demand for no hospital… those eyes, he shivered slightly at the memory. It could not be all coincidence.

Licking his fingers and pinching the smouldering stub out between them John toyed with the idea of fetching another before brushing it away, if she survived she'd be pissed and he didn't fancy annoying someone who could stand the day after suffering injuries like that, and if she didn't the thought made him feel a little weird. Nursing his whisky his mind turned to what to do now, leaving meant he would have to call for a lift back to the mountain and no doubt would lead to some awkwardness the next day with regards to his General, staying saw an uncomfortable night on the sofa… plus awkwardness with his General the next day. 

Sighing quietly he downed the last of his drink, which would bring his intake up to more than half a bottle, and debated disturbing O’Neill with an enquiry regarding a pillow and blanket. Shrugging the idea off, he'd slept with less, John turned to go back into the house and stepped back slightly, with a quiet inhale of breath and clenching of fists, at the sight of his General a mere half foot away from him.

The other man gave a wry grin. “Sorry Sheppard, should know better”

John nodded and returned the thin smile, fists uncurling. “No problem Sir, tough habit to break”

Another nod. “Don't”

He snorted quietly. “How is she?”

O’Neill sighed. “If it was one of us I’d have made the call no question” He looked past John, eyes seemingly searching the night for something. “But… maybe, just maybe”

“She'll survive?” He couldn't keep the doubt from his voice, wincing at the sound of his own words.

“Perhaps” The eyes focused back on him. “I… should explain”

John held his hands up. “When you're ready Sir, I… but it would be nice. Eventually”

His General rolled his eyes before turning and waving at John to follow. “Nothing more I can do, ‘cept stay awake just in case. And this story will keep you awake, believe me”


End file.
